


Soft White Damn

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Non-Linear Narrative, There is snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-18 23:44:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2366357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Have you ever come across anything you couldn’t fix?” Hawke asked quietly, her voice just audible in their close proximity.</p><p> </p><p>“Never,” Fenris said, and kissed her again.</p><p> </p><p>Arrows don't choose their marks, as Fenris finds out.  The snow doesn't give a soft white damn whom it touches either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soft White Damn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loquaciousquark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loquaciousquark/gifts).



_If this were the last slow curling_   
_Of your fingers in my palm_   
_If this were the last I felt you breathing_   
_How would I carry on?_

-'The Last Snowfall', Vienna Teng

 

_The snow doesn't give a soft white damn whom it touches._

_-_ e e cummings

* * *

 

It was after the Chantry went up in flames, and Fenris had believed Hawke to be invincible.

 

He despised being proven wrong. He loathed how he ended up befriending the young elven children in the alienage, and how one day, he stopped watching his back during battle for Merrill and Anders- trusting them almost completely. Fenris _hated_ it when Hawke showed him that magic doesn’t corrupt everything it touches, her fingers calloused and worn- yet gentle and kind upon his silver-etched skin.

 

Fortunately, Fenris was not wrong often.

 

(Unfortunately, Hawke lay in his arms, like a flower drooping from the morning frost; steadily getting colder by each passing second.)

 

* * *

 

When Orana suggested a breakfast delivered right to their bedside, Fenris grumbled and Hawke grinned like a child, digging her elbows into his sensitive side, prompting him to squirm away from her arms. As the door clicked shut behind Orana, she flipped over, landing on top of him, supporting her head on her hands and elbows, mock observing him with a smirk. Hawke’s slender legs were waving behind her like a wagging tail, her silk loose pants sliding down to her thighs.

 

“I hate being tickled,” Fenris muttered. “It is most undignified. Are you a child, Hawke?”

 

Hawke blinked twice, eyes comically big, head tilted. Fenris tugged his lips down to maintain his mock scowl. Even as her hummed mirth increased in volume and grew into hearty laugh, he merely raised a single eyebrow. She flipped over again, lying on her back with her arms stretched out like wings.

 

With her hand closest to the warrior, she hooked her forefinger and motioned, _come over._

The elf looked away and crossed his arms. “No,” he said primly.

 

Hawke pouted and stretched out his name deliciously between her lips, her voice still slightly rough from a night’s sleep. Relenting, Fenris leaned over, his face hovering over hers- “What?”

 

The lyrium warrior squeaked in surprise as Hawke’s hand reached behind his head and shoved his lips against hers, all a mess against each other, as Hawke caught Fenris’ bottom lip between her teeth and refused to let go. Working past his initial shock, his tongue swiped past her teeth and gently brushed against her own. The mage’s thin but powerful arms wrapped loosely around his middle (to allow him escape, anytime he wanted it).

 

Fenris lifted his face slightly, still braced closely over Hawke. Her chestnut eyes were so incredibly dark. As her right hand slipped beneath his nightshirt and trailed feather-light against his skin, up and up, following an invisible track up his side; Fenris’ body lightly quavered from a shiver that started from the base of his toes and rippled right through to the top of his head-

 

“I bet ten sovs I could change your mind,” she purred, her lips curved up into a predator’s smile. The white haired elf’s breath hitched slightly.

 

“I hate being proven wrong,” he said, desperately keeping control and his voice even as his hand wrapped around her wandering one, intertwining their fingers together, “but I have a feeling it’ll be alright if it’s you, Hawke.”

 

* * *

 

She was shivering, he realized faintly.

 

Hawke was cold, despite his right hand clamped tightly around her weeping wounds, despite their dislodging of the magebane soaked arrows in her chest. His brows crinkled. Why couldn’t he stop the cold, why couldn’t he save the only thing in his life that still mattered, why did it have to be _Hawke-_

 

A soft hiss cut through the frigid air like a sharp blade. Fenris flinched back, his blurry vision abruptly sharpening, then realized it was Hawke and he was holding her too tightly, jarring her injury. A litany of apologies streamed out, accompanied with soft but urgent kisses upon his lover’s neck, upon her face, on her fluttering eyelashes. The lyrium ghost pulled back slightly to observe her face. She was far too pale for him to be comfortable.

 

With a slow inhale, he ignited himself for her, every vein of lyrium in his body flickering to life. The mage’s eyes looked to him in drowsy surprise.

 

“I keep forgetting they’re warm,” she said, shudders receding a little. “I thought lyrium would be cold.”

 

Fenris drew her closer to his glowing chest, attempting to shield her from the cacophony of the battle around them and the unforgiving combination of snow and wind, like whips against their bodies. He laughed quietly and bitterly, bordering on hysteria.

 

“Orsino was a blood mage, Meredith ended up with the idol, and here you are, being surprised about warm lyrium. You’re a strange, strange woman, Hawke.” He’s fingers trembled as he brushed them through her hair, gently dusting off the pure white snow.

 

Hawke’s face twisted briefly, just for a second- she grimaced, and for just a second Fenris saw the full extent of the effects of the poison, and his heart _ached_. He gasped softly along with her, brows furrowing in deep concern- “Hawke-”

 

“Y-you’re right. I am strange. Tell me something I _don’t_ know, Fenris.” A difficult smile stretched across her face, pulling all the wrong places and Fenris  _ached-_

_Stop._ “Stop, Hawke. Just- stop.” He tasted salt on his lips and smelt the sweet of lavender and the sharp biting iron of blood in her hair. The elven warrior’s heart jerked painfully in fear, panic, dread-

 

Her face fell as she exhaled, softer than the falling snow. “Hypocrite,” she gasped, and scarlet fell from her lips, red on white on red.

 

* * *

 

The elf lost count of how many times Hawke had to look away from him, crestfallen at their circumstances. They were stuck in an abandoned straw hut in a storm, its flimsy roof barely shielding them from moisture and cold. Their armour and rations were under a small plank of damp wood, their last attempt to keep them dry.

 

But beggars could never be choosers, and neither of them expected anything luxurious from a life on the run; a run away from their pursuers, away from their past.

 

Resting his hand on her bony shoulders, he asked, “what’s wrong, Hawke?” He never expected Hawke to be _perpetually_ cheery- no one would be able to keep that up, not even his strong-willed lover with a feather-light yet titanium wrought heart- but she had been uncharacteristically silent for a while.

 

Hawke tilted her head into Fenris’ touch, and he turned his palm to rest against her face, thumb rubbing small comforting circles just under her ears. The woman sighed, her frame sagging under the weight of her mind.

 

“You wanted a haven, a home and a future- didn’t you, Fenris?” Hawke’s eyes did not blink, instead they burned through the darkness, gazing straight ahead. “I promised you all that, and instead, I gave you a dead end with a wanted mage, a small nation of seekers and Templars hot on our tails, and just to top it all off, a leaky straw hut in the middle of a-” Hawke broke off, voice cracking and drowned out by rain. She leaned away from Fenris, then, and dug the back of her wrists onto her eyelids.

 

The ghost’s feet were soundless and swift on the damp dirt floor as he took Hawke into his arms, lyrium flaring and arms tightly wrapped around her. Her sharp angles and corners fitted into his embrace, like the long lost missing piece of a puzzle. He could feel Hawke’s chest fluttering against his, like a startled bird; but he wouldn’t let her go, not when they needed each other the most.

 

He could barely breathe against her. “You gave me all you promised, Hawke. I’m home.” Fenris felt warmth seeping through his shirt.

 

Indeed, Hawke gave him all she promised and more, and he would stay true to his words as well. Whatever the future held, by her side was the only place he wanted to be.

 

* * *

 

“Hmm,” Hawke hummed. Fenris was counting her shallow rasps against him in his head now, while frantically looking over her shoulder at the chaotic battlefields for the help that _still wasn’t here._

 

He let his eyes slide close, focusing on keeping his lyrium alive to keep _Hawke_ alive-

 

“What is it, Hawke?”

 

“Mm. It’s…nothing.” Her dry, thin lips shifted slightly against his neck, head resting on his shoulders now. “Nothing. Tell me a story?”

 

“ _No_ , Hawke, I-” his words came out barbed and spiked- Fenris tried in a gentler tone. “Hawke, _please_ tell me what’s wrong.”

 

“I just, c-can’t feel my own heart beating anymore, is all.” Every few words she uttered was punctuated by a sharp inhale and a chuckle, as nonchalant as Hawke could manage in her state. Fenris’ acidic pain that ate away at his chest deepened by each second; looking at her, the mage looked horribly young, and her panic was barely hidden behind her drooping eyelids. He picked up her right hand, limp against her side.

 

“Hawke,” he called, and her eyes flickered towards him, pupils struggling to focus on him. “Can you still feel your hands?”

 

She opened her mouth, about to speak- but instead dragged up ragged, scraping coughs that only brought up more blood. Hawke was pale against the red, her body sagged even further and Fenris was scared- _terrified-_ that Hawke’s body was finally succumbing to the cruel world and that she would crumble to dust and leave him alone when the winds picked up.

 

“Hawke, _Hawke, please,_ are you- Hawke, stay with me. _Please,_ ” he was begging, his other hand pressed firmly against her wounds, trying in vain to keep her from falling to pieces.

 

After a while, Hawke’s coughs dimmed to thin gasps, her chest convulsing and shuddering against the elf’s. Fenris closed his eyes tightly, a childish voice inside his head telling him that maybe, just _maybe,_ when he opened his eyes again, this would all be a night terror and Hawke would be beside him, bathing in warm sunlight instead of snow and blood.  

 

“Can you feel your hands, Hawke?” He tried again, his voice tight and shaking. She nodded once, then again. His hold on her hand stiffened, and he placed her palm against his chest, faintly glowing with lyrium.

 

“Can you feel that?” Another nod.

 

“As long as this heart beats, you will live.” Another promise. Hawke shifted.

 

“Fenris, I-”

 

“ _No,_ Hawke, listen to me- _You will live._ ” Fenris’ eyes grew uncomfortably warm, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he grappled for control. His lover only sighed against him.

 

“Alright,” said Hawke.

 

* * *

 

“I could fix that,” Fenris mused, as Hawke looked despairingly at her torn robe.

 

She let out a melodramatic sigh. “This was father’s robe,” she remarked, slightly disappointed. “It must have caught on the cliffs when we went jumping around Wounded Coast. The tear is so big, I think this one is a goner.”

 

The elf walked over and picked up the other edge of Malcom Hawke’s robe. The threads were coming apart, fraying terribly.

 

“You underestimate me, Hawke,” he said with a small grin. “Give me a day with this. It will look as good as new.”

 

Hawke quirked an eyebrow at him, mock appraising her beautiful lover.

 

“A shame you and father never got to meet. You would be excellent drinking friends.” Hawke folded the robe in half and handed it to Fenris.

 

“ _Thank you_ , Fenris. I didn’t know sewing was one of your many talents,” she hummed and drew closer to the elf, close enough for their noses to touch.

 

“Indeed,” Fenris’ grin grew as Hawke leaned in for a soft kiss.

 

“Have you ever come across anything you couldn’t fix?” Hawke asked quietly, her voice just audible in their close proximity.

 

“Never,” Fenris said, and kissed her again.

 

* * *

 

He was exhausted, lyrium flickering like a dying fire. His vision wasn’t so much better- it swam and warped nauseatingly, and all was reduced to meaningless, absurd blurs.

 

_How much longer?_

 

_How much longer could he keep this up? How much longer before help arrives? How much longer before Hawke lets go?_

 

Hawke’s hand was still against his chest. Her fingers twitched, then weakly pushed against him.

 

“Hawke, what-”

 

“Enough,” she whispered. Fenris stared at the mage, in shock.

 

“It’s alright, Fenris,” Hawke said, more air than words. “You’re alright.”

 

At that, Fenris’ light dimmed like the finale of a dying star. His forest eyes overflowed as he looked skyward at the falling snow.

 

“How-” He sucked in air, voice crackling, breaking- “How could you even _think_ that- that I will _ever_ be alright again-”

 

“I don’t,” her voice was the faraway rings of a wind chime. “I _know_ it.”

 

And for the first time in years and years, Fenris was lost.

 

* * *

 

Hawke woke with a start, forehead covered with a sheen of sweat. Her heart dropped when she reached across the bed and found the other side cold.

 

When she glanced around her room, she found Fenris reigniting the fire by her bedside, unaware she woke up. The mage sat up and leaned against her headboard.

 

When Fenris turned and saw her appearance, his eyes widened slightly, and asked: “Bad dream?”

 

Hawke nodded with a soft sigh. She could run as far as she liked- but even at the ends of the earth, the past and the imminent future were never too far away at night.

 

Fenris lifted the blankets and slid in next to her, his feet slightly chilled. He planted a kiss on her shoulder, then let her lean against his chest.

 

He was almost asleep again when Hawke whispered brokenly, “I dreamt that you had to leave me.”

 

Fenris shifted to the side. Under the dim light, her face seemed more sallow, the shadows under her eyes and the hollows under her cheekbones were more prominent. The world tried to wear her down, tried grounding her to dust and swallowing her whole but time and time again, Hawke proved that she was stronger.

 

But being strong came with a price, and she was paying every bit of it now.

 

“That won’t happen, Hawke,” they resumed their acquiescent, comfortable embrace. “Not if I can help it.”

 

“Good,” Hawke said, inhaling deeply, taking in the smell of the soap that Fenris uses, the smoky scent of firewood, and something so comforting and so distinctly _Fenris_.

 

Having found peace, the two fall asleep, unperturbed by the perpetual tides of fate.

 

* * *

 

"I am _yours,_ " he rasped, voice gone brittle in the unforgiving winter air. She closed her eyes tighter, and tried pulling for another breath into her failing chest. 

 

* * *

 "I am  _yours,_ " he murmured against her ear. She smiled and held onto him, with the ease of a kestrel gliding through the heavens.

 

* * *

 

The fighting had lasted for what felt like eternities. But like all things, it came to an eventual end.

 

The Inquisition- yes, that’s what they called themselves- arrived, soaked in blood and tending to their own injuries. Someone approached him at some point, a few even tried to speak to him. He watched all this unfold, as if his eyes were veiled by a strip of cloth.

 

“Hawke,” he called. The blood on his hands was darkening and drying. His plea was unanswered, lost to the dwindling winds of winter.

 

He tried again, and maybe once more. The hand against his chest that he believed to be invincible, that held his entire universe, every ocean, continent, star and sky- was now cold and will only grow colder.

 

The snow continued to fall.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all, thanks so much for reading this little thing. I think this is the fastest that I've ever churned out 2.5k which is an achievement I guess! Feel free to leave comments and suggestions below ;w; and have a nice day!
> 
> EDIT: ah, I forgot to mention that this fic was conceived after reading Loquaciousquark's Lacrimosa.... It was a simply gorgeous fic that gave me feelings all in the right places- I look up to her writing a lot. If you haven't read it yet, I strongly recommend giving it a read :)


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